


Never Meet Your Heroes

by Lynds



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Actor Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Crack, Just very silly, M/M, Writer Merlin (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29461509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/pseuds/Lynds
Summary: Merlin is the author of much-loved novel The Golden Age. Arthur is the actor set to play the main character in the film adaptation. They both have a little bit of a secret celebrity crush on the other.So of course Merlin has to go and spill coffee all over Arthur the first time he meets him.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 213





	Never Meet Your Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this in my drafts for a VERY LONG TIME because it's just so silly and fluffy and daft. But fuck it. My life needs silly fluff right now! I hope you enjoy ^_^

Merlin was learning the meaning of the expression ‘vibrating out of your skin’. All around him people were bustling with industry, dancing around each other so smoothly it all had to be choreographed. Props guys lugged buckets of paint, swords and ladders out of a van. Someone was exercising a trio of horses so noble he was amazed they allowed Merlin anywhere near. A couple of men dressed as knights were rehearsing their lines while the director and cameraman pored over the script, making notes.

Merlin was so nervous and excited he could barely see straight. Which might have been how he ended up walking into a broad chest and drenching both of them in coffee.

“Oh, for fuck’s _sake!”_

“Shit,” cried Merlin, flapping wildly. Of course he had to go and look like a fool in front of the hottest man alive. “I’m so sorry, are you OK? Can I do anything? Shit. Um…I’m Mer—“

“Stop.” The man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It went on a long time, and Merlin would have giggled if he didn’t recognise a ‘don’t lose your temper with the clumsy idiot’ breath.

“Right,” the gorgeous blonde said with the fakest smile Merlin had ever seen. “It’s fine. Really. Gwen will only yell at me for, oh, I don’t know, half an hour, and spend the next full hour fixing the costume and calling in Gwaine to sort out the makeup. So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go down to Starbucks in town, which will keep you far away from anything else you can break or delay, and you can then bring my replacement double shot soya latte to the _door_ of the costumes tent because God knows if you actually came inside you’d pour it over everyone else’s clothes. Got it?”

“Oh, sure,” snorted Merlin. “I got the impression you’re a prat.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your coffee,” he said. “I would have got one for you without the patronising speech.”

He left blond-and-chiseled gaping at him and fired off a text to Morgana warning her he’d be late. He spotted Lance in the queue for catering, and a grin cut across his face unbidden. He crept up behind him and jabbed his fingers in his back.

Lance jumped and spun around, and Merlin took a moment to feel jealous of Lance’s ability to do things like that and not knock coffee all over his neighbour. “Merlin!” he laughed. “You got here at last.”

“Well, I didn’t want to disappoint anyone by being predictable or on time or anything. Have to keep up this mystique.”

Lance giggled, which just shouldn’t be so adorable, and hugged him. “What are you up to? Shouldn’t you be meeting Morgana?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. “Yeah, I should, but I spilled coffee all over Arthur bloody Pendragon and said I’d get him a new one. From Starbucks. I, uh, I might also have called him a prat.”

Lance winced. “Ouch. You have a talent for first impressions. Was he pissed?”

Merlin snorted. “You could say that. Never meet your heroes, huh? To be fair, he looked like he wanted to strangle me Homer Simpson style and he didn’t. Is he always so uptight?”

Lance hesitated, which for him was tantamount to calling the guy a raging arsehole. “He’s just intense. Dedicated. I think he’s got high expectations of everyone, but particularly himself. It makes him come across as—“

“A prat?”

Lance laughed. “I guess.”

“Want to come and get his Highness some Starbucks then?”

“I’d better not,” he sighed. “Gwaine and Morgause want me down at hair and makeup in twenty.”

“Aww, you look beautiful enough already,” he grinned, patting him on the cheek. “I can’t wait to see how they turn you into Holyn.”

“You’re coming to watch the scene, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Holyn and Petraeon’s meeting has always been my favourite scene.”

***

It only took ten minutes to buy a couple of coffees from the drive thru on the outskirts of town, and he held tight to the carrier as he made his way back up the field, asking directions to the costumes tent. There was no door to knock on, so he dumped the dregs of his own drink in the grass before walking in. He really was clumsy, not that Dollophead needed to know that. 

“Hello?”

Arthur stuck his head around a rack of clothing. “Keep your distance, this is the only spare.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I’ll put your coffee here, shall I, sire?”

The Prat grimaced and rubbed the back of his head. “I didn’t actually expect you to…look, about earlier, I think I was a bit—“

“Of a prat?”

“Stressed,” he said, glaring at Merlin. “I’m not actually Christian Bale, I don’t usually go around yelling at interns, no matter how clumsy they are.”

“Oh, I’m not an intern—“

“Whatever. Anyway, like I said, I’m sorry. This part means a lot to me, so—“

“Really? How come?”

Arthur stared at him like he was pond scum. “Because I’m playing Prince Patraeon, for God’s sake, don’t you know anything? Jesus, I bet you haven’t even read the books!”

“Bet I read them before you,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur glared at him. “Well, then, if you’re such a fan you should know how important it is to get this right, now bugger off and let me go over my lines in peace.”

Merlin rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. Arthur Pendragon thought this role was important! Merlin’s favourite actor, the one he never let himself dream of casting as Petraeon, was stressed out over a character _Merlin_ had created.

He should have come clean there and then, but his mind was a bit busy flailing. He’d never been any good with words that weren’t written down anyway. Instead he grinned so hard at Arthur when he left the tent (almost falling over a clothes rail) that his three year celebrity crush probably thought he was a complete simpleton.

He was still in a daze, fluctuating between glee and embarrassment, when Morgana caught up with him. “Merlin, where have you been? We were meant to meet an hour ago.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I brought coffee, though, peace?”

She homed in on the Starbucks cup and downed the triple shot cappuccino faster than could possibly be healthy. “You’re forgiven. Now, filming’s due to start at ten, so I want to introduce you to everyone at the nine thirty meeting. They’re all dying to meet you.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Most of us read the book before a film deal was ever in question. You must know how well loved The Golden Age is, surely?” Merlin shrugged awkwardly and Morgana shook her head. “Never mind. Suffice to say that everyone’s here because they feel passionately about the source material.”

She walked briskly into a large white marquee, leading a very pink-cheeked Merlin. They were met by a hum of conversation. Medieval knights, groups of people in green screen lycra and puffa jackets, cameramen with pockets full of lenses and filters, and other normally dressed people all mingled together. Morgana gestured to Merlin to stand at the side while she walked to the front to start the meeting.

“So, you’re Morgana’s intern? That makes so much sense.”

Merlin jumped and absolutely did not squeak. 

Arthur Pendragon stood next to him, arms crossed over his chest and sniggering. “You are such a girl.”

“Oi,” whispered Merlin. “I am not—“

“Shh!” Arthur hissed. “Morgana’s about to introduce Merlin Emrys. I can’t fucking believe he’s here.”

“Uh, funny story, actually,” Merlin said, scrunching his face up. Arthur just nudged him and put his finger to his lips. Damn, those lips…

“…and I know you’ve all been looking forward to meeting the author of The Golden Age, so please give a warm welcome to Merlin Emrys!”

Merlin found it physically difficult to draw away from Arthur’s side, because after this there was no way they’d ever be able to interact normally. It was a mile and a half to the front of the marquee, a mile and a half of surreal clapping and cheers, and too many opportunities for Merlin to trip over his own feet. Finally he reached Morgana, who handed him a mic and stepped back to join the applause.

“Um…hi.”

He sneaked a peek over at Arthur while the crowd made various welcoming noises, and his heart sank. Arthur was frozen with his mouth open and his face white. As they made eye contact, Arthur quickly looked away, burying his face in his hands and sinking into the nearest seat. Merlin blinked and frowned, and tried to concentrate on introducing himself and answering a few questions about the motivations and decisions of various characters, and by the time Morgana took over, Arthur had disappeared.

“Merlin!” Lance ran up to him and Morgana as they walked towards the first site. “Hi, Ms LeFay, do you mind if I borrow Merlin a minute?”

“Only if you promise not to break him,” she smirked. “And have you seen my idiot cousin? He was hounding me to introduce him to Merlin so he could have his little fangirl moment.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll send him your way when I can. C’mon, Merlin.”

Merlin waved to Morgana and let Lance drag him along the field. “Nice leaves,” he grinned. “Bet those are a pain in the arse to sit for.”

Lance shrugged, touching the latex holly leaves swirling along his cheeks. “They’re OK. Freya’s prosthetics team are lovely. But you need to talk to Arthur.”

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Of course he _wants_ to, he just thinks you won’t want to talk to him.”

“What? I _have_ spoken to him. We bantered. I called him a prat, he called me a girl. I think I win on the insults front. I should have told him who I was. Ugh, he’s going to be so mad at me.”

“Well, he’s sitting with his head in his hands groaning about how he sent Merlin Emrys to buy him coffee and how he’s ruined everything. We need to get him back on track, please?”

Merlin snorted. “If I didn’t want to buy him coffee I’d have told him to go fuck himself. I did spill it on him in the first place.”

Lance raised a green sparkly eyebrow. “How about you tell him that yourself.” He shoved Merlin into the costume tent and beckoned to the cute curly-haired girl who was patting Arthur’s back. “C’mon, Gwen, let’s give them a minute.”

Gwen’s eyes widened when she saw Merlin. “Oh! Oh, of course. Um, I love your work, Mr Emrys.”

“Merlin, please.”

She blushed and started to scurry past him to Lance, then stopped and glared. He pulled back slightly under the force of it. “You will be nice to Arthur, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Merlin grinned. “I promise to only call him Clotpole once or twice.”

“Clotpole?!”

“Ah, he lives!” Merlin said cheerfully as Arthur raised his head to glare at him. The tent flapped behind him when Gwen and Lance left, and the two men cleared their throats at the same time. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself.”

“No, no, you tried to, didn’t you? I didn’t listen. I was such a prick, I’m sorry.” He rubbed his face again. “Oh, God, I can’t believe I made you get me coffee.”

“You didn’t make me do anything. I wanted to replace what I’d spilled all over you. Trust me, if I didn’t want to get you coffee, you wouldn’t have got coffee.”

“But I shouldn’t speak to people like that anyway. I felt really bad about it as soon as I’d calmed down. Gwen told me off for bossing interns around…oh God, I acted like my father, didn’t I?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Merlin shrugged, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “If it helps, I was kicking myself for crashing into my favourite actor before I had a chance to tell him how much I cried at the end of Avalon.”

Arthur looked up at him through his eyelashes and gave a little crooked smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, I was a snotty mess coming out of the cinema.”

“You really are a girl.”

“You know that’s not an insult, right?”

He grimaced. “Yeah, don’t tell Morgana. I had a half hour lecture on the insidiousness of everyday misogyny last week from her. Somehow it turned into a rant on the use of dehumanising language in anti-refugee propaganda, don’t ask me how. She didn’t seem to hear me saying I actually agree with her. I wrote my dissertation on the Reichstag fire, for God’s sake, she probably heard it all from me in the first place.”

Gwen stuck her head in the tent. “Gaius is calling for you, Arthur.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks, Gwen.” He turned to Merlin. “Are you, uh, are you going to watch?”

“God yes. I can’t wait. I’ve got a crap visual imagination, so I’m so excited about this.”

“Really? But your descriptions, especially of Holyn and Petraeon…”

“My mate Will, he was an artist. We sat down and sketched them out together when I first made them up. We must have been teenagers at the time. I gave him an outline description, he improved on it, and I described his paintings. Weird, huh?”

Arthur stared. “I don’t know if I’ve ever thought of there being different types of imagination, really. Is he doing paintings for your next book?”

“He…uh, he died last year.”

“Oh, God, I’m really sorry.”

Merlin smiled. “Thanks.” He snorted softly. “I didn’t write anything for months afterwards and then…then I just started writing about him, you know? Nearly a hundred thousand words of descriptions and anecdotes and imaginary conversations with his ghost.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry, I must be coming across as a right psycho.”

“Not at all. We use whatever tools we’ve got to cope. It…it sounds kind of beautiful, actually.”

“It’s really not. It’s all sarcasm and anger and bad grammar. Like Will, really.”

Arthur laughed, and Merlin felt a warm rush to see his crinkled up face tipped back to the sun. 

“So what does an actor do to deal with shit?”

“I don’t know, really. I don’t know if what I do is as transferrable, because when I’m acting, I’m not me, you know? It’s not like I can work out my frustrations through Petraeon or anything, because I’m not him, he’s got different motivations and reactions. I’m not a method actor or anything. I feel like I’d get lost in them, so I compartmentalise.”

“That’s probably healthy. I can’t imagine spending a day cutting evil alien throats like you did in Avalon and then going home and cooking dinner.”

Arthur laughed again. It gave Merlin a sense of achievement. “It helps if the aliens get up afterwards and go for a drink with you.”

“Yep, I definitely couldn’t cope with that. I’m going to have to give Lance a hug after his scene today, like, every time you do a take. It was bad enough writing Holyn’s grief, I never expected my friend to have to feel it.”

“That’ll slow down proceedings a bit.”

“Fiiiine,” he huffed. “I guess I’ll make do with giving him a cuddle at the end.”

He rolled his eyes. “Did that scene come from your own life, Merlin?”

“Well, funnily enough I’m not actually a Pagan god of Winter searching for his long lost counterparts, but—“

“Then how were you able to write it?”

“I dunno. Holyn’s story just told itself to me. I mean, there’s some of myself and my experiences in his character, but he’s just…it’s like he exists separate to me in my head.”

“There you go, then,” he said smugly. “That’s what it’s like for us actors. Holyn’s upset, not Lance. Do you need a hug after writing a sad scene?”

Merlin raised his eyebrows and looked at him. “Yes.”

Arthur laughed. “OK. You give us a hug after an emotional scene, and then call me to give you a hug after you write one.”

Merlin watched him walk off to the director, mouth hanging open. “Have I mentioned I’m about to write a really sad death scene?” he yelled. Arthur turned, laughing, and gave him a thumbs up.

“Holy shit,” Merlin muttered. “I’m gone.”


End file.
